


The Next Layer

by Liara_90



Category: Star Wars (Marvel Comics), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Future Fic, One Shot, POV Third Person, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 17:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14477349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: Future fic. Doctor Aphra and Magna Tolvan have formed an uneasy relationship, both professionally and personally. The latter one is kinda still a work in progress.But as every archeologist knows, you have to scrape through one layer at a time.Canon-compliant as ofDoctor Aphra 19: Remastered, Part VI.





	The Next Layer

* * *

The proposal, Doctor Chelli Lona Aphra reminded herself, had been simple. The local Imperial governor was engaged in off-the-record archaeological excavations in search of off-the-books income. Which made him a legitimate Imperial target to rob, so far as _sir_ was concerned. All Aphra had to do was get to the (unauthorized) dig site, do a little after hours excavation, and be back in hyperspace before anyone caught so much as a whiff of her scent. No need to draw the attention of the Imperial garrison that was guarding the site. Or involve the planetary crime boss who was buying the excavated relics for resale on the Huttese market. Or traverse that the mating grounds of a _particularly_ territorial herd of rancors.

Certainly not all of the above at once.

“ _Kriffin_ \- go damn you go,” Aphra swore to herself, cranking the throttles of the SoroSuub landspeeder she had commandeered/hijacked hours ago. Commandeered/hijacked from someone who had - _entirely unbeknownst to her_ \- happened to be the prodigal son of the planet’s most notorious crime lord. She’d picked the souped-up XP-38 because it had just the right mix of performance and ruggedness that the terrain of Kogan 6 demanded. Turned out the crime lord’s kid had (a) unfortunately good taste in all-terrain landspeeders and (b) surprisingly good connections with the planetside Imps. Because a few comlink calls later, Aphra was-

“Hutt-spawn!” Aphra’s hands flew across the controls as a pair of rancors roared thunderously in her direction, the errant archeologist desperately trying to change her course. The repulsorlift engines audibly protested as she rocketed off in the opposite direction, directly into the sunset like a damn holostar.

“ _Unidentified landspeeder: pull over now or we will open fire_.” It was the voice of a middle-aged Imperial commander, male and rapidly running out of patience, being broadcast across every frequency and piped through the landspeeder’s speakers. Squinting against the glare of the G2-class star, Aphra could make out a pair of a TIE fighters flying low on the horizon, no doubt with orders to blast her to atoms.

Aphra opened a channel. “Uh, acknowledged, Imperial control. I just have a slight-” she glanced backwards, where the pair of rancors she’d earlier encountered had swelled into a mid-sized pack, “-slight problem with the wildlife. Where’s a good place for me to meet you?”

The Imp’s answer was drowned out by the sound of wind in her ears as Aphra cranked the accelerator, keeping her head low to avoid the worst of the desert sands. The reddish-brown grains had already found their way into every pocket and boot in her attire, to say nothing of how they were ruining her visibility.

Aphra breathed a small sigh of relief as she cleared the canyon she’d been flying through, and with it the worst of the faunal hazards. An open expanse of desert - more the craggy stones of Geonosis than the sweeping dunes of Tatooine, she’d noted - beckoned before her. She just needed those TIEs not to shoot her in the next two minutes and-

-something hit the back of her speeder with a _crack_.

For a split-second Aphra panicked, fearing that the rancors had, _somehow_ , managed to catch up with her. They hadn't. Though what _had_ wasn’t really all that better.

A powered harpoon, tipped with a fusion disk, had embedded itself in her starboard engine. The damage it was causing to her repulsorlift was bad enough. _More_ than ‘bad enough’ was the Pr'ollerg Clan landspeeder she was now tethered to.

No more than a dozen or so meters behind her - and closing fast - a hulking Trandoshan was screaming at her, a murderous glint in his reptilian eyes. Aphra’s T'doshok was pretty piecemeal, but she knew the Dosh word for _blood_ , and he was definitely making heavy use of it.

“ _Unidentified speeder, you have thirty seconds to comply, or we-”_

“ _Not_ -” Aphra grunted, rebalancing the power distribution between her landspeeder’s engines, “ _-right now_.” Her XP-38 arced around in an elongated crescent, whipping her Trando pursuer about but failing to separate them. Her new course was taking her directly _back_ to the rancors, who Aphra had subconsciously decided would offer a cleaner death than whatever the Pr'ollerg Clan had planned for her.

“Warning: engine failure imminent. Warning: engine failure imm-” Aphra muted the alarm. Muted the Imperial channel informing her she was now a live fire training exercise. Ignored the reptilian shouts from behind her and the reptomammalian roars from in front of her. Ignored everything that was not one of two facts:

  1. There was a AJP-400 personal jetpack in the backseat of the speeder.
  2. There was a cliff with a mile-long drop less than half a klick from her.



“C’mon, Force, I’ve always believed in you,” Aphra half-muttered, half-prayed, as she passed with ten feet of an _extremely_ aggravated rancor queen. She flicked another channel, adrenaline causing her fingers to twitch treacherously on the control panel. “ETA is, like, _thirty seconds_. I’m bringing friends!”

“ _When you say_ ‘friends’ _, I will assume you are being sarcas-”_

The voice at the other end of the line was cut-off by a blaster bolt, a streak of green energy that singed the air around Aphra. Her Trandoshan tracker had evidently stabilized enough to start taking potshots at her. The fact that the Clan was apparently not trying to take her alive was the very definition of a mixed blessing.

Her comm line was melted slag, but the landspeeder continued careening towards the cliff, the starboard engine literally flaming out behind her. The sand in front of her exploded as one of the TIE Fighters began a strafing run, kicking up a cloud of coarse grain that had Aphra choking as she sped right into it.

“ _.... your_ skull _back in tiny pieces…_ ” the Trandoshan was yelling. That Aphra could hear him meant that she was going too slow and that he was getting too close.

But so was the cliff.

Flicking on the autopilot for what was destined to be the last minute of the landspeeder’s existence, Aphra rolled herself into the backseat, shrugging the straps of the jetpack over her shoulders. Another blaster bolt flew overhead, shattering the screen. This was definitely in the Top 10, maybe even Top 5, closest-to-death moments of her life.

“You can do this,” she told herself, cinching the last strap. “People use jetpacks all the time. Those people are normally Mandalorian warriors, but-”

Something suddenly changed. Looking out, Aphra realized it was the ground, which was no longer under her. The landspeeder had just flown right off the edge of a cliff. The repulsorlifts would keep her floating for a few seconds, before-

-her stomach seemed to rise into her ribcage as gravity began to do its thing.

“ _Better than an airlock!_ ” Aphra screamed to herself, as she ignited the jetpack.

She’d practiced with the jetpack, though most of that time had been spent figuring out how to ascend or descend without slamming into the ceiling or the ground, respectively. Hadn’t really gotten a chance to experiment in an open air environment. Not that there was a whole lot of practicing one could do for a scenario like this.

Aphra’s screams were drowned out by the rushing air, her whole body _yanked_ forward as the jetpack lifted her from the landspeeder. For the first five seconds she kept her eyes squeezed shut, cannoning through the air like an archaic ballistic projectile.

Then she remembered that she actually needed to fly _to_ something.

Well-honed survival instincts asserted themselves, Aphra’s brain overcoming the overwhelming sensation of rocketing through the air as it began thinking about _distances_ and _velocities_. Almost without conscious thought, Aphra’s fingers began adjusting and refining the arc of her flight, modulating and stabilizing. Fine-tune control was pretty much beyond her, but she just needed to hit her target within a few meters… and a few seconds... 

Aphra slammed into the hangar deck of the _StarMite_ -class frigate, sliding across the deck tiles, killing the ignition a second before she rammed herself into something immovably solid. Aphra spun, rolling as lateral momentum carried her a few feet past her landing zone. It was a terrible landing by every metric except the one that Aphra cared about: she’d survived it.

With conscious effort, Aphra steadied her breaths, seating herself upright and unfastening the jetpack’s harness. Steadying herself against the bulkhead, Aphra made her way to the lip of the hanger ramp just in time to see her landspeeder hit canyon floor. In actuality, all she saw was the pinprick flash of an explosion, followed a split-second later by a second: her Trandoshan hunter, no doubt. Exhaling with a shudder, Aphra pounded a button on a nearby panel, retracting the ramp.

With any luck, nobody would have spotted their daring escape, and the smoldering wreckage would be enough for a lazy inspector to close the case. It was the fifth.... sixth?.... time Aphra has faked her own death. Thousands of credits of fake identity documents that were now burned, another sector she couldn’t safely set foot in ever again. Correspondences she would have to terminate, opportunities she would have to forgo. She had other identities, other personas she could assume to continue her work undisturbed. But play-acting her own death hadn’t gotten any easier...

There was a distant _hiss_ as the spacecraft began pumping more oxygen into the hanger, bringing the atmospheric pressure back to comfortable levels. The howling winds of Kogan 6 had vanished, leaving Aphra’s ears ringing. Her limbs suddenly felt leaden, every muscle suddenly feeling the weight of its exhaustion.

As tempting as it would have been to just curl up in a corner - Aphra really _could_ have fallen asleep right there on the durasteel deck - she forced herself to keep moving, trudging her way deeper into the ship.

She rounded a corner, almost colliding with one Magna Tolvan. Aphra immediately forgot about feeling tired.

“You’re late,” Magna reprimanded, nothing in her voice suggesting there was anything tongue-in-cheek about the complaint. “Scheduled rendezvous was fourteen minutes ago.”

“Sorry, sir,” Aphra apologized, a silly little grin on her face. She was still so relieved to have made it back at all that she didn’t feel the sting of Magna’s rebuke. “But no plan survives contact with the enemy, does it?” Magna grunted, a deep noise that seemed to reverberate along the cybernetics of her neck. It was the best answer Aphra could have given, all things considered.

The plan had been Magna’s brainchild, another symbiotic plot wherein Tolvan tried to improve the Empire and Aphra tried to get rich. That was their preferred _modus operandi_ , had been since Aphra had picked up Magna all those months ago. Magna only let the archeologist steal from _corrupt_ Imperials, though - thank the stars - those weren’t exactly an endangered species. Their heists had the effect of exposing crimes within Imperial governance, which Magna hoped would lead to cleansing purges when their robberies were investigated. Wash away the corrupt and the inept, strengthening the order of the Empire. Her knowledge of Imperial security systems gave Aphra a competitive edge, and Aphra had convincingly justified reselling the stolen goods as a way of financing their ‘penetration testing’.

“Our exfiltration plan appears to be intact. But you should have alerted me to the revised timetable,” Magna continued.

Aphra’s grin failed to dissipate. “Aw, it’s sweet that you were worried about me,” she teased, willfully misinterpreting the nature of Magna’s complaint. And then she leaned forward, raising herself on her toes, eyes closed and lips puckered.

Aphra didn’t make it to Magna’s lips, though the taste of her glove - nerf-hide leather - was almost as good. Didn’t keep her from pouting, of course, as soon as she opened her eyes and saw Magna blocking her advance.

“You’re filthy,” Magna noted, sweeping Aphra up and down. Aphra dropped back to her heels, for a moment puzzling over Magna’s newfound use of dirty talk, before realizing that the observation was a rather literal one. Aphra was still caked with dirt - both from her archaeological excavation and the ensuing high-speed pursuit, flakes of it falling off with every step she took. “Take a shower, first.”

“Yessir,” Aphra acknowledged, enthused by the implication that something would come ‘ _second_ ’. She offered Magna a mock-salute - using the wrong hand to elicit another cute frown - before spinning on her heel and marching off to the fresher.

The door sealed shut behind her, though Aphra didn’t lock it, in the off-chance that her not-quite girlfriend felt like joining her. That was the splash of Corellian blood in her: a complete indifference to the odds. Their freighter had the rare luxury of a proper water shower - a decadent luxury compared to the efficiency of a sonic shower, and one Aphra thanked the Celestials for. She stripped out of her outfit, the clothes forming an amorphous blob in the corner, before stepping into the shower and letting the high-pressure, high-temperature water rush over her like Nawataa Waterfall.

The water pooling at her feet ran red and brown as dirt and grime were flushed off Aphra, cleaning and purifying. For a solid five minutes she just let the water pour over her, the heat comforting exhausted muscles. And then her eyes began drifting to the door of the refresher, hoping against hope that it would part, and reveal-

-she shook her head, shaking water from eyes and fantasies from her mind. They weren’t really at the ‘ _playfully sharing a shower_ ’ stage of their relationship yet. The two of them still weren’t really on a first name basis. Hell, they were barely on a _real_ name basis.

Aphra slunk to the floor of the shower, drawing her knees up and letting the water wash over her. At least she no longer had to worry about Magna arresting her (or worse) - her paramour’s involuntary defection from the Galactic Empire had seen to that. Now untethered, ex-Inspector Tolvan had found an archeologist she’d almost killed (repeatedly) to be her one respite in a cold and unforgiving galaxy. Chelli Lona Aphra, who’d given aid and comfort to a woman who by all rights was her enemy.

Aphra pulled herself to her feet, forcing herself to properly soap and shampoo instead of just wallowing in the water.

Whatever her relationship with Magna was, it was uneasy and unaddressed, treated like a palace affair that had to be kept hush-hush. A kiss _here_ , a shared bed _there_. Aphra had fun - and she was pretty sure Magna enjoyed herself, too - but it was still uncomfortable, unsettled. She could live with that, if it meant living on the same ship as Magna, but-

Aphra cut off that train of thought and her supply of hot water in one motion, spinning the faucet shut. Her fingers were pruny, and she was too sober to mope this much. She toweled off with practical efficiency, before slipping into a bathrobe emblazoned with the logo of the Bonadan Imperial Hotel. It was a fluffy white thing, stopping well below her knees and almost swallowing her hands, and absolutely _perfect_ for lounging around a questionably-registered freighter laden with unaccounted-for cultural relics.

The door slid open, and she found herself face-to-face with Magna. She was going to get arrhythmia at this rate. And then Aphra blinked, processing a wardrobe change. While Aphra had been showering, Magna had discarded the ‘civilian casual’ outfit she’d been wearing and changed into the muted green uniform of the Imperial Inspectorate. It was practically the only tangible relic of her old life, and one she didn’t exactly have much use for on a day-to-day basis.

It still caused Aphra’s knees to buckle a little. She was such a sucker for a woman in uniform.

“Chelli Lona Aphra,” Magna began, her tone sounding like she was reading a warrant aloud.

Aphra swallowed, loving the sound of her name on those lips. “Yeah?”

“During our debriefing, you neglected to mention where you had stored the pearls,” Magna continued, her tone durasteel.

“Oh, yeah.” Aphra smiled a little sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. The cache of buried Veda Pearls had, after all, been what all that trouble earlier was about. By mass, they were possibly the most expensive mollusk-byproduct in the galaxy, often going for millions in the auction houses of Coruscant, Naboo, and Kuat. “They’re in the little side pocket thingy on the jetpack.”

Magna stood at a parade-rest, her back straight, her hands clasped behind her. How strange that that had such an effect on Aphra.

“ _All_ of them, Aphra?”

She blinked. “Uh, yeah? Why?”

Magna took a step towards her, amplifying the differences in their heights. Even after all these months Aphra _still_ found herself caught off-guard by how intimidating her not-quite-girlfriend could be. Silver hair and steel cybernetics; a face that could halt a charging reek in its tracks.

“Because you’re a _thief_ , Doctor Aphra. How do I know you haven’t hidden some away, kept some private cache for your own purposes?”

“Guess you have to trust me to do the job I said I’d do, _sir_ ,” Aphra bit back, a frown coming across her face. It wasn’t like she was expecting Magna to overcome a lifetime of conditioning in a few weeks, but she _had_ kind of hoped they were getting past the ‘ _sleeping with one eye open_ ’ phase of the relationship.

“Oh, I _trust_ you well enough,” Magna responded, cupping Aphra’s chin in her leather-gloved hand. Aphra blinked. “But I prefer to do my due diligence.” Magna let go of Aphra’s chin, eliciting the faintest of whimpers. “Strip.”

_Oh. Ooooooooooh._

“Is that an _order_ , sir?” Aphra half-asked, half-hoped, her fingers toying with the fluffy sash of her bathrobe.

Magna retreated a half-step, allowing her to better take in all of the archeologist at once. “Unless you want to spend the rest of the trip in the brig, it is.”

Aphra suppressed a grin, her fingers undoing the loose knot of the sash, allowing the folds of the robe to drift apart. Magna eyed Aphra with a haughty indifference on her face, even as her back seemed to straighten by degrees. Aphra held that stance for several long seconds, before shrugging out of the bathrobe in one fluid motion, the garment pooling at her feet.

“See?” Aphra flashed empty palms, revealing the calluses of hard work in the field. “Couldn’t keep anything from you, sir.”

Magna let out a low growl, the _wanting_ sound reverberating metallically in her cybernetics. “That remains to be determined. Hands on your head.”

Aphra complied without protest, lacing her fingers together behind the back of her head. And then she swallowed, the position making her feel twice again as exposed. She felt her own chest rising and falling, her skin still flush from the long spell in the shower. Aphra felt as if she was flaunting a hundred imperfections, her body a collection of bruises and scrapes and scars, still dirty from the soil of a thousand digs.

But Magna took no note of any of that, crouching down in front of Aphra and wrapping two hands around a calf. She began frisking Aphra with thrice the vigor of the most overzealous security guard, and the effect was instantaneous. Aphra was already craving contact between her thighs, but Magna moved further up, leaving her lust unsated. Aphra tensed as Magna felt her abdominals, tense muscles that were infuriatingly ticklish. Then those hands were over her breasts, her back, her shoulders.

Aphra’s lips parted, in anticipation of saying something witty and flirty, but Magna had doubled back, one gloved hand sliding over her mons pubis and brushing against Aphra’s folds. Aphra felt her knees buckle a little at the pressure of the touch, which only increased.

“Keep your hands on your head,” Magna commanded. Aphra hadn’t realized that they’d been drifting and hurried to replace them. “There is, of course, one rather _obvious_ spot you could have hidden the pearls,” Magna mused aloud, her fingers gently stroking back and forth.

“I’m… I’m not hiding anything,” Aphra murmured, keeping her voice level. And then her eyes darted to Magna’s, brown locking with silver. “You can search me if you like, sir.”

“Do you think I need your _permission_ , thief?” Magna chided. While her right hand kept the pressure on Aphra’s folds, her left found the archaeologist's hair, brushing against Aphra’s fingers. With a short _tug_ she pulled those hairs back, forcing Aphra to crane her neck. Aphra stifled a yelp of both pain and pleasure, her eyes squeezing shut.

“No, sir,” Aphra managed to get out.

The tip of Magna’s finger slipped between Aphra’s folds. The younger woman sucked in a sharp breath, raising herself to the balls of her feet, unthinkingly.

The pressure grew quickly, but it was a relative eternity for Aphra. Magna slipped in another finger, adjusting her stance so she could maintain contact with Aphra’s clit with the rest of her hand. Some part of Aphra’s brain pleasurably noted that Magna’s technique was _far_ better than any of her dates in recent memory.

Magna still hadn’t released her grip on Aphra’s hair, curling her fingers selectively to increase the tension on Aphra’s head. It wasn’t violent or particularly painful, but it was _controlling_ , a constant reminder of possession and control. Aphra could feel Magna’s breaths on her skin.

“Oh…. by the…. fffffff-” 

And with a final surge of pressure from Magna’s fingers, Aphra climaxed. Her hands fell from her head without reprimanded, her legs threatened to collapse out from under her. Magna actually slipped one arm under hers, clearly thinking that support would be necessary. Aphra took that as an excuse to twist her head and steal a kiss, deep and hungry, her fingers threading through Magna’s hair.

Steadying her stance, Aphra shot Magna her most sultry look, which admittedly gave the impression that she’d just robbed you blind. “Well now…” Aphra wrapped her arms around Magna’s neck, feeling the stiff collar of her tunic. “How about I take you somewhere nice…”

She tried steering Magna in the general direction of their mattress, feet shuffling slowly like a dancer with an unskilled partner. Magna allowed herself to be guided a half-step in the bedroom’s direction, and for a moment, Aphra allowed her heart to buzz with over-eager anticipation.

But then Magna stopped, as she always did, the heel of her boot planting into the deck plating, her torso frozen as if in carbonite. Aphra visibly deflated, her cheek twitching in disappointment of another unspoken rejection, another invitation ignored. Only a crisp kiss from Magna kept her from slinking away to her spare bunk, the smack of lips on her forehead lifting both her gaze and her spirits.

“One of these days,” the archeologist began, putting on a _faux_ sulk, “you’re going to let me get you off.”

Magna let out a low _hum_ , a noise that was neither affirmative nor dismissive. Just… ‘ _we’ll see_ ’.

“I enjoy myself plenty in your company,” Magna assured her, as gently as she could. Aphra flashed a small smile in reply. “It’s just that we’re diffi-… just that _I’m_ difficult.”

Aphra grabbed Magna’s hands in her own, the calloused thumbs of an archeologist playing over the leather gloving Magna’s knuckles. “We’re both just big sacks of issues wrapped up with plastoid tape,” she agreed.

She let go of Magna’s hands, her own falling limply to her sides. Aphra knew that Magna had her own hurdles to overcome, a lifetime of inhibitions and learned behaviors to reprogram. Fraternizing with the enemy, keeping secrets from her superiors, defecting (however unwillingly) from the Empire... Those were _easy_ , compared to allowing herself to indulge in something so frivolous as sex. Because that just wasn’t what _good Imperial women did_ , no matter how much Aphra was trying to coax her into a new lifestyle.

Hell, some voice in Magna’s head was probably screaming at her to slap the binders on Aphra and ship her back to Accresker. The fact that she _hadn’t_ spoke volumes about their evolving relationship.

“Well, I’m naked, and you cranked the thermostat way down,” Aphra said, rolling her neck as she spoke. “I’m gonna crash in bed before I freeze.” Now that the exhilarating high of arousal had dissipated, a thousand little discomforts were asserting themselves again. The swelling in her finger where she’d jabbed a nail, the soreness in her shoulders where the jetpack had yanked her, the hyper-sensitivity of an abdomen that had been badly bruised in a brawl.

Magna blinked. “Oh… of course,” she muttered, her posture relaxing by degrees as the conversation moved to safer territory. “I’ll adjust the temperature,” she said, raising her voice as Aphra slipped into the adjoining bedroom.

“Ehh, don’t worry about it,” Aphra called back, dropping to the floor-level mattress that was their bed. A vague wave of guilt passed over her as she slipped beneath the sheets, which Magna had folded into hospital corner crispness. Aphra was pretty sure she hadn’t made a bed since puberty, and certainly never so nicely.

Magna followed her unthinkingly into the bedroom, unable to keep from watching as Aphra pulled the covers up above her breasts, her head sinking into a foam pillow cradled in the crook of her neck.

“Are you sure you won’t be cold, Aphra?” Magna asked, unfastening her gloves, without conscious thought.

“Maybe,” mused Aphra, her eyes already closed. Then one brown eye opened, a mischievous glint to it. “Not if I’m sharing your body heat, though.”

A long silence hung in the air between them, the distant vibrations of the ship’s hull the only sound to be heard.

“We’re in hyperspace for the next fourteen hours,” Magna observed, though she was speaking more to herself. She tucked her nerf hide gloves into her belt. “And it _would_ save energy.”

Aphra grinned and pulled back the bed covers. In less than a minute Magna was beneath them, clad only in a camo green undershirt and unsurprisingly unexciting undergarments. Her back was to Aphra, allowing the archeologist to curl up to her, one arm around her waist.

“Yeah,” Aphra murmured, as the room’s lights automatically dimmed, “this is better.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your readership! Please feel free to leave any comments, thoughts, feedback, or headcanons in the comments. Criticism is the only way I’ll ever get better as a writer. If you’d like to know more about me/my writing, feel free to hit up my [About](http://www.pvoberstein.tumblr.com/about) page. I’m also active on both [reddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/pvoberstein/overview) and [Tumblr](http://www.pvoberstein.tumblr.com/), and can be reached through any of the means on my [Contact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/profile) page.
> 
> So my first time writing _Star Wars_ smut. Probably not my strongest showing, but Aphra’s a _tough_ character to write. And I _really_ wanted to write something simplistically smutty for her relationship with Tolvan. Any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated.


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